


Counting the stars

by hellokerry



Category: The West Wing
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:21:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4599672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellokerry/pseuds/hellokerry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Josh is on Donna's couch and he's drinking her wine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Counting the stars

Josh is sitting on her couch. It's late and Donna has reminded him of the fact at least three times now. She’s reminded him that her roommate will be home maybe within the hour and she has a new boyfriend, and Donna likes to make herself scarce when he comes over. Privacy, and all that, like she lives in a college dorm instead of walking distance from her more-than-full-time job as a deputy-deputy chief at the White House. It's kind of endearing, truth be told, and Josh enjoys the way her cheeks redden when she's flustered, and he's been drinking some of her wine, but she's drank a bit more. Donna doesn't drink that often anymore, but when she does, Josh can't help but be secretly delighted. It reminds him of when they first met and she was still young enough to drink like she was in college, and he was just young enough to want to pretend that he still could. He liked the way she'd have difficulty with his name, slurring the middle into a shushing noise - Jossshua - and the way she'd concentrate on the syllables, not wanting him to notice, because he was her boss and this whole thing was new, she was new, and she didn't yet know what to make of any of it. Of her new job. Of him. Of this thing between them that grew into companionship and then took a left turn at slightly inappropriate. Slightly perfect.

Josh is sitting on her couch and Donna is slurring his name. He’s drunk on the sound of it and the way the ends of her hair curl down around her collarbone and in towards her heart. The top few buttons of her blouse are undone and he's beginning to think about what lies beneath, if her skin is as light and smooth underneath as it is on top.

He's thinking about putting a sock on the door of Donna's apartment-turned-college-dorm. Roommate: Stay out.

Instead he tries to check the voicemail on his cell phone, but he can't remember the password. Donna has to plug it in for him. He thanks her sheepishly and she leans back into the couch as he listens into the speaker, her eyes piercing in their intensity as she teasingly reminds him how to delete. 

She runs his office and she calls him Joshua when she's drunk, or trying to be cute, just like how he calls her Donnatella when he's grasping at the only threads of intimacy he can.

He offers to let her crash at his apartment while her roommate and boyfriend have their way with one another and immediately cringes. She suggests they go for a walk instead, work off the wine. Josh agrees.

It's a crisp autumn night and they both forget their jackets, but Josh doesn't mind. He loops an arm around her shoulders and feels the heat from her body spread out into him, melting the air around them, Donna smelling of lavender and God, he wants to bury himself into the crook of her neck where she sprays her perfume and get lost in the scent of it.

He does, get lost in the scent of it, and he finds himself leading her down Capitol Hill, winding down paths that were once littered with cherry blossoms and Donna, dressed in a pea coat, rambling on about Helen Taft and two trees that grew into thousands.

If Josh were a lesser man, he’d lean her up against one of those trees and kiss her. He’d spout useless endearments that would say very little of what he actually meant to say, of what she means to him. He has a thesaurus running through his head, but none of the words ever do her any justice. Love is such an abstract thing and Josh has spent his life believing in what is concrete, but here she is, here he is, loving her all the same.

Josh is thinking about roots that extend deep into the ground and fan out over DC. He’s thinking about a storefront in New Hampshire, pavement that led into dirt and the freedom of an old, beat up car at night. He’s counting the stars and matching them with the ones in her eyes; they’re focused on him now, dark as the city around them and yet so very, very bright.


End file.
